I once deeply disturbed a bartender at the 99 over a conversation my dad and I were having about marriage. Basically I was spinning a hypothetical scenario like, “What if I had a wedding someday, but I didn’t actually get married, and you guys all just assumed I was married because there was a wedding?” I could tell I was actually getting somewhere with my argument: the cheap bar venue, the lack of formal paperwork, the single-parent FAFSA, the eventual savings in divorce lawyer fees. Frankly I think I should be compensated for even sharing this idea with the public – I mean, we could take down Big Marriage. All until my dad invited the bartender in on the debate, who struck it down by saying it’d be disrespectful in the eyes of God or something virtuous like that.
But for the record, it could really be as simple as just changing your Instagram name and no one would be the wiser.
When I was 18, my dad said he would buy me a boat if I never got married. But now that time’s more on my side than his, he has yet to fulfill that verbal contract. Instead, we have 12 vintage snowmobiles, 1 mini snowmobile, 1 vintage mini snowmobile, and a weird four wheeler thing made by the same company as the vintage snowmobiles. So the Great Boat Dilemma might never reach resolve. As in: I might never get married, and we also might never have a boat. But we could look SO sick riding as a 12-person squad on snowmobiles that go 25 MPH.
I think my dad wants to get rid of me so he can discontinue being my primary male caretaker. For example, I told him that I haven’t put windshield wiper fluid in my car since I bought it back in July 2023 and he’s had to ask me about it three different times on the phone. I feel like it’s the same as when I graduated college and there was all this *~pressure~* on me to get a job. Now you want me to get a boyfriend, too? When does it end? Why can’t you just fly to Minnesota and put windshield wiper fluid in my car for me?!
See: I need you to continue putting windshield wiper fluid in my car because I am not a stable person at the helm of my romantic life – especially when it comes to the “choose your character” part. You are talking about a girl who once had to block a guy on Strava, a RUNNING app, because he started commenting on my runs to say that “[his] dog was dying and [I] didn’t even care.” His dog was, in fact, not dying. He also proceeded to type me a letter, written from the POV of “everyone in [my] building,” saying that I should go home to New Hampshire because nobody wanted me there. So like any dignified woman of the 21st century would do, I posted the letter on my Close Friends story and it became kind of like a running joke slash ‘solve the mystery’ bit for all of our neighbors. And maybe this makes me a villain, but it was incredibly hilarious. Especially because when he tried to tell everyone he didn’t write the letter, I was like, “Guys use your logic: who is the ONLY person in our building with a printer…” Well, his roommate did some investigating and coincidentally the printer had magically thrown itself into the abyss of his closet. Case closed.
Okay, so not only am I interested in dog death liars, I also go for guys who have a total disregard for Greek mythology: arguably the worst quality one can possess. This one in particular told me he wanted a painting of Sisyphus for his room. When I questioned why, he responded with admiration for Sisyphus, saying that he worked hard even though he knew he would never succeed. I was like, “You do know that Sisyphus did that because he was condemned to eternal punishment, right? He’s not, like, willingly pushing the boulder up the hill…” It felt like – in his hockey brain – he was equating it to putting in reps at the gym when you know the highest you’ll ever go is the ECHL. Safe to say my side didn’t resonate. Which is sad really, because Greek mythology rocks. I have this tan trench coat, and sometimes when I wear it I get comments like, “You look like you’re selling something.” And all I can think of is the Greek god guy in Hercules who’s just slingin’ sundials on the streets.
I don’t think anyone actually cares to hear about my dating endeavors, but there’s lots happening behind the closed doors of Single Person World. And maybe at a subconscious level, I don’t want to get married because I would miss it. One fatal flaw still exists though: I’m going to run out of windshield wiper fluid at some point. So I’d better get my ducks in a row. Or my wipers in a line. Or my free car wash at Tidal Wave Auto Spa compliments of the second period Shiny Shutout. My dad used to wash my car. Or make my cousin do it. Great, now I’m sad. Who wants a sundial?
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